


Story of Sam's Life

by Niitza



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Crack, F/M, Fluff, Hospitals, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:22:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1396228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niitza/pseuds/Niitza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean finds his very own Dr. Sexy and Sam's life starts sucking a bit less - but contrary to how it may sound, the latter is not a direct consequence of the former.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Story of Sam's Life

Something was wrong with Sam.

Dean got the call right after they'd finally cracked the code they'd been slaving over for days, which was a good thing, really. The news might not come as a surprise - there had always been and would always be something wrong with Sam - and after thirty years Dean might have developed a certain immunity that prevented him from falling apart right there and then, but he knew that remaining focused on the job while knowing his little brother was in the hospital once more would've been a bitch.

As it were, Charlie waved him away without looking up from her screen, where she was compiling the results of their breakthrough for the interested parties. Kevin was following the process with the stoked fascination of the newbie he was and Ash was celebrating by cracking a beer from the secret stash he kept under his desk but that everyone knew about. They'd be able to hold the fort in his absence without problem.

He made his escape, passing Jo on the way. The Special Agent stepped aside without question because everybody knew what that expression on Dean's face meant, and soon he found himself in a taxi headed to the hospital. He didn't trust himself at the wheel, even though it meant no distraction from his thoughts on the way there. He glared at red lights, cursed all the other drivers who seemed to have collectively forgotten the concept of right of way, counted the streets through the window and drummed Metallica against his knee with his fingers in a bid to calm himself.

He remembered belatedly that Missouri, the doctor who had handled Sam's case for so long they'd forgotten they'd once called her Dr. Moseley, had just retired, and it was the first time such an emergency had occurred since then. She'd warmly recommended the man the hospital had hired to replace her and Sam had already met him, but Dean hadn't, and with the current mess at the office he hadn't even had the time to do a background check. Knowing his brother in the hands of a stranger that might turn out to be either in over his head or a dick like Dr. Adler didn't help any. Dean tried to reassure himself by remembering what little Sam had said about the new guy - mostly that Dr. Novak "seemed okay" and, after Dean had insisted for more details, acted like a "professional" who knew "what he was doing".

Yeah, right. Like that was enough info.

Fortunately, when Dean finally arrived at the hospital, he found his brother all taken care of and settled in a room that might as well be his for how much time he spent in it. Seriously, after all these years, they should just put his name on the door and allow him to customize the place a bit, or at least to paint the walls a less nausea-inducing color than that pale, ugly anise green. Dean had a pretty strong inkling that such a mistake in interior design was cause for half of the relapses around here - and, working for the FBI, he knew to trust his instincts.

Sam smiled weakly when Dean entered the room and dragged a chair over to sit at his bedside. He was in that half-lying, half-sitting position only hospital beds allowed, hooked to several machines and a drip, and the combined white of his sheets and hospital gown made him appear even paler that he already was. The rings under his eyes stood out all the more, purple like bruises. He looked exhausted, like he always was after a crisis.

"Hey there, Major Tom. All set?"

Sam's smile turned into an annoyed pout.

"What?" Dean asked with a grin, because he knew _what_. "Something wrong, Sammy?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're a jerk, you know that?"

It was a widely known fact that Sam despised any nickname anyone had ever tried to give him. Which was precisely why Dean reveled in using them. He felt entitled to.

"And you're a bitch. Glad to see your brain's still in working order." He sobered and his voice softened when he asked: "What happened?"

Long gone were the days when he would rush into the room and that question would be the second thing he asked after having made sure that Sam was okay, that he had everything he needed. His little brother had made it clear that he hated it - and if he was being honest Dean hated it too, hated how his worry for Sam turned him into a mess, made him go to pieces. So he'd learned, over the years, to hold himself together no matter what, to refrain from fussing over Sam, to give him space. He'd learned to accept that there was often nothing he could do, apart from standing back and trusting that Sam would pull through all on his own.

Sam sighed and opened his mouth to answer, but before he could utter a syllable someone stepped into the room.

Rectification: Dr. Sexy stepped into the room.

Okay, not _Dr. Sexy_ Dr. Sexy. But close enough, what with the white lab coat and tallness and tousled dark hair and stubble. The man's eyes were blue instead of dark and smoldering, but no less intense and therefore still mesmerizing. He hadn't any cowboy boots (sadly) but Dean found himself ready to overlook it for the soft smile that graced the man's features and the gravelly sound of his voice when he greeted Sam and asked how he was feeling.

Sam's answer as well as the short exchange that followed went right over Dean's head as he sat, frozen, breath stuck in his throat.

See, Dean knew crushes. He'd _done_ crushes, he was a master at crushes - gentle crushes (Lisa) and fiery crushes (Cassie), boner crushes (Dr. Sexy) and painfully awkward crushes (Aaron), instant crushes that caught as fast as they went out (Jamie) and low-burning crushes that started with a simple, faint spark but would draw themselves out for what felt like forever (Robin). He knew how these things worked, how _he_ worked, recognized these things when they happened to him as they happened to him. And he knew how to deal with them with all the smoothness Charlie kept repeating he didn't have (because she was jealous, clearly; after all, she still hadn't gathered enough courage to ask out that primary school teacher they'd met through Benny's sister).

In short, he came _prepared_.

Yet apparently he was _not_ prepared to being slapped in the face by a crush that felt like all the other ones rolled into one deadly package. It barreled right into his well organized, pyramidal crush hierarchy and blowed it to smithereens, coming out on top as the undisputed, lifelong winner.

Dean, who after the precarious years of his youth liked to know where he stood in life, was understandably upset.

Fortunately said precarious years as well as his job had also taught him to bounce back and fast, which is how he managed to take hold of himself in time. Dr. Sexy - which Dean realized must actually be Dr. Novak - wrapped up his conversation with Sam and glanced in his direction, that god damned perfect smile still on his lips.

"May I enquired who your visitor is?" he asked in that low voice that made Dean swallow.

"Oh, yes, of course," Sam babbled. "This is my brother, Dean."

Dean stood up to take the hand the doctor reached out to him, all the while mentally kicking himself for choosing today of all days to forego the regulatory shirt and tie. His ratty jeans and old henley were fine for poring over codes for hours in the confined space of the lab, but in no way suited for meeting handsome men in scrubs and clean-cut white coats.

Damn Bobby's lax clothes policy.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Winchester," Sam's doctor said as he shook Dean's hand, clearly unaware of Dean's inner turmoil. "I'm Dr. Castiel Novak. I imagine Dr. Moseley mentioned me."

"She sure did," Dean replied, painfully aware that the smile on his lips was far from being as suave as he wanted it to be. "And you can call me Dean."

Even after all these years, "Mr. Winchester" still sounded like his dad.

"Then please, call me Castiel," Dr. Sex- Novak replied. "We'll probably see at lot of each other in the future, after all. Let's not encumber ourselves with excessive formality."

Dean felt his smile widen in spite of himself. "I guess we will."

 

*

 

Sam's life was miserable.

He was aware that thinking this way made him sound like a drama queen but, well. It was true. Anyone not agreeing with him should try having a chronic disease - try having a _condition_ , the kind that makes you land in the hospital more often than not and fucks up all of your life plans before you've even hatched them. Then they could talk.

He'd had project, once. Dreams. Hopes. Back when he'd been younger and naive and thought that force of will was all he needed to make them come true in spite of the obstacles. He'd wanted to study, he'd wanted to become someone, he'd wanted to-

Well, mostly all he'd wanted was to be normal. Simple as that.

But, well. It wasn't that easy to be "normal", to go to school and make friends and do things like go to parties or to the movies, when that life had been constantly interrupted by treatments and long stays at the hospital he took forever to recover from. It wasn't that easy to have a good school career - to have _any_ school career - when it was done in fits and starts, trying to catch on what he'd missed only to have another breakdown before he was quite there, and ending up set back even more.

He'd made it to his first year of college - because damn it, in spite of everything, he was good, he was smart, and most of all he was _stubborn_ \- before he'd realized that the time he spent in the hospital or in recovery wasn't time taken away from his life. It _was_ his life. Part of it, anyways. And by trying to ignore that, by fighting tooth and nails for an unattainable ideal, all he'd done was exhaust himself even more.

He would never have that normal life.

He'd come to terms with it - was trying to come to terms with it, to adjust. It wasn't easy. And through this all, Dean had been there for him.

Dean, his older brother; Dean, who'd taken care of him to the best of his abilities during the childhood they'd never really had, making up for the absences of their father who focused on his job like a man possessed; Dean, who through trial and error had taught himself to cook in order to feed Sam according to the doctors' recommendations, who'd listened in class to be able to teach what Sam would inevitably miss, who'd studied not because he could, but because he'd decided that he needed a well-paying job in order to provide the best health insurance for Sam.

Dean, whom Sam couldn't stand sometimes. Like, he really wished Dean would just leave him the hell alone, soaking in his misery (which didn't like company).

Why? Because Sam was jealous, he was mature enough to admit it. He was jealous of the life Dean had, of all the possibilities that were open to him. He could do what he wanted, whenever he wanted. He could go to the restaurant and treat himself to a decadent meal. Play sports with friends later to work it off, jog through the park, go on a hike. Go on a date with a beautiful woman or man and know that if it didn't lead to anything more, it would be their choice, not the result of circumstances. Pack a bag and leave on a road trip without worrying about anything more than gas prices and the pile of work that'd be waiting for him at the end of his vacation.

Dean was intelligent, handsome, successful. In spite of their difficult childhood he'd turned out okay, more than okay, especially when it came to his job. Because Dean couldn't have become something simple like a mechanic or a firefighter, no. Of course not. To him, working on cars like he was the one who'd invented the concept was a hobby; and joining forces with the fire department to rescue damsels in distress and kittens stuck in trees was volunteer work when he had time to spare.

When it came to "serious" business, he'd had to go and become a key member in an engineer team so efficient and gifted that all the divisions of the Bureau were panting after it. They'd start squabbling over it like children if the tight-knit unit ever showed any sign that they'd stopped being so happy staying under Ellen Harvelle's jurisdiction.

So yeah, Sam was jealous. There, he'd said it. He was jealous, which made him irritable. So sue him.

But what angered him most, was that for all he'd been gifted with, for all the potential he had in his existence, Dean wasn't living it to the fullest. He wasn't living it for himself. Every decision he'd ever taken, every choice he'd ever made, everything he'd ever given up on, had only ever revolved around Sam. He'd opted for a career in the FBI so he could afford and keep the insurance they'd inherited from John - for Sam. Once there he'd chosen the closest thing to a desk job so he would have the advantages without the risks of getting killed on the field like their father had been - for Sam. He'd decided to stay close to Lawrence, whereas more important divisions would've been all to happy to hire him - for Sam. And he'd let more than one relationship dwindle and sputter out - for Sam.

Thing was, Dean had a very clear hierarchy in his life: Sam came first, then the job. And then maybe himself, or rather the people around him. It wouldn't budge, wouldn't change. It was as unshakeable and inescapable as the laws of the universe - hell, it was the law of Dean's universe. That was why he still lived alone, why he didn't do relationships, why the few he'd had in the past hadn't worked. Not that he or Sam had been surprised. Who would want to stay, after all, knowing they'd only ever come in third?

So yeah, Dean could have everything. He could have a life - he could have the life Sam had dreamed of once. But he didn't. Because of Sam.

And sometimes, Sam hated him for it. Which was a paltry way to hide the fact that he actually hated himself. Feeling angry was so much more easy to bear than feeling guilty. When he had all the reasons in the world to be.

He'd robbed Dean of his life, by not pushing him away years ago. Dean might be stubborn, but Sam could be even more so. And he knew he could have driven Dean away, if he'd really tried. If he'd been strong enough to really want to.

Only he wasn't. All he could do, when it all became too much, was try to annoy his brother enough to have him keep his distance for a couple of days. And that was when Dean didn't retaliate by showing up even more often until Sam stopped trying.

When that happened, it provoked a certain amount of very tense visits. Like right now. Which didn't help Sam's results or increased his chances of getting out of here any time soon, if the crease on Dr. Novak's brow was anything to go by.

"So, Sam," the man said at the end of his examination, features smoothing out into that soft smile Sam had heard nearly all nurses coo over. Dr. Novak always tried to part with his patients on a pleasant note and therefore often lingered to exchange a couple of words with them when he had the time. "I seem to recall that your birthday is coming up."

Sam threw him a forced smile. "Yeah," he confirmed. "The big three-oh."

He tried not to let his bitterness show. It wasn't Dr. Novak's fault that Sam's life was pathetic, that he was pushing thirty and had no prospects in life, apart from trying to survive long enough to make heads or tails of it so he could do something with it. If anything, the doctor had made it all more bearable. Ever since he'd arrived he'd made sure to keep Sam informed about anything pertaining to his treatment, its progress as well as its complications. He listened to Sam's wishes and respected his decision without pushing if Sam refused to try something new. Sam was still sad to have seen Missouri go, but he was glad that Dr. Novak was the one who had replaced her. Like her, he cared about his patients, about what became of them. It was more than far too many other professionals ever bothered to do.

"It's a special occasion, then," Dr. Novak went on, scribbling on his chart. His eyes were serious when he asked: "Is there anything you wish for?"

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Hypothetically?"

It'd take a long time to tell him. It was a very long list. Very organized, too.

Dr. Novak's smile widened like he was amused. "I'd like to give you a present. It's customary, between friends, isn't it?"

"You think we're friends?" Sam blurted before he could think.

Dr. Novak's expression grew hesitant for the first time since Sam had known him. "I thought..."

Sam rushed to repair his faux pas: "We can be friends. We are. I just didn't think..." He cleared his throat. "Some doctors prefer to keep things strictly professional."

"Oh." Dr. Novak's smile returned. "In that case, you might've noticed I prefer a slightly more personal approach."

"Yes, you do."

"However, we don't know each other that well yet. So, I'm asking you: what do you want?"

Sam wanted a lot of things. The first being to be out of the hospital on his birthday. But he knew that wasn't going to happen this year.

To his surprise, he found himself saying instead: "I would like you to take my brother out to a restaurant."

If only so that he wouldn't see Dean and his concerned eyes on that fateful day.

At the mention of Dean, Dr. Novak's cheeks reddened slightly - as they'd started doing more and more frequently and more and more obviously.

And okay, that one was maybe partially Sam's fault. It's just, Dr. Novak _really_ insisted on talking to his patients. He enjoyed it even. And what could Sam talk about? Between detailing how crappy he felt most of the time and telling stories about Dean, he quite logically chose the latter. And who would blame him? Dean was a great brother to have and brag about, Dean had a turbulent life that lent itself so well to storytelling. And most of all, despite the frequent hitches in their relationship, Sam loved his brother. A large part of him, larger than he liked to admit, was still that little boy who looked up to that young man with a heart of gold badly hidden under devil-may-care attitude. He was one of the best things in Sam life, if Sam was being honest.

So Sam might've... embellished things. A bit. When swept away by the enthusiasm of the narrator faced with a captive audience. And so Dr. Novak might've been led to believe that Dean was a truer saint than any of the men and women whose life were described in the Bible.

But, Sam insisted, it wasn't _all_ his doing. He wasn't responsible for how attractive Dean had grown, for instance. That one he blamed entirely on their parents and genetics, as well as on Benny, Dean's best friend, who loved to drag him away to run or spar or fish, incidentally keeping him in good shape. And Sam wasn't responsible for the way Dean grew all bashful and yet flirty in Dr. Novak's presence. That one he blamed entirely on Dean. And on the writers of _Dr. Sexy MD_.

Dean claimed he didn't have a fetish. Sam called bullshit.

He would have to be blind not to notice how hard Dean had instantly started crushing on Dr. Novak - and vice versa. Really, it was a miracle neither of them had been reduced to gooey rubble by now. Which, from Sam's privileged point of view, was as awkwardly funny as it was frustratingly sad.

Funny and awkward because what came out of Dean's mouth when he was nervous would make the Bureau reconsider his evaluation of his aptness for the job - and because seeing Dr. Novak's usual composure slip as he grew flustered was weirdly adorable. But yes, frustrating and sad too, because after several months Sam had realized that no matter what they felt towards each other, neither of them would ever act on it.

Sam could nag Dean all he wanted, his older brother wouldn't budge; and even if Dr. Novak encouraged friendliness between him and his patients, meddling with his private life was a line Sam wouldn't cross.

So Sam had thought that it would stay that way, that he would have to put up with the longing stares Dean and Castiel kept exchanging without shortening the distance between them or stepping out of their roles as doctor and patient's relative. Which was why, when Sam realized what he'd just said in response to Dr. Novak's question, he marveled once again at how smart he could be without even trying, and how wasted that potential would be if he didn't find a way to exploit it despite his condition.

"I see," Dr. Novak finally said, after he'd repressed his first, flushed reaction. "You want your brother to go out and enjoy a good meal like he would with you, were you able to leave the hospital." Satisfied with that far-fetched and extremely misguided explanation, Dr. Novak smiled and nodded. "You are a good man, Sam. I promise I'll ask him."

He left shortly after, leaving Sam alone to try and see that this as a win, and that he consequently shouldn't smother himself with his pillow. Knowing his life, it would only cancel all chances that this date pretending not to be one would ever happen.

 

*

 

To: Her Majesty

From: Dean

_CODE BLUE_

 

To: Handmaiden

From: The Queen

_Sam?_

 

To: Her Majesty

From: Dean

_Dr sexy just asked me out_

 

To: Handmaiden

From: The Queen

_1) fuck you you had me worried you dick, i thought smthg had happened to sam_

 

To: Handmaiden

From: The Queen

_2) WHAAAAT?_

 

To: Handmaiden

From: The Queen

_When?_

 

To: Handmaiden

From: The Queen

_What did you say?_

 

To: Her Majesty

From: Dean

_Nothing_

 

To: Handmaiden

From: The Queen

_WHAT_

 

To: Handmaiden

From: The Queen

_DEAN I SWEAR TO GOD_

 

To: Her Majesty

From: Dean

_I didnt have the time_

 

To: Her Majesty

From: Dean

_He had to leave_

 

To: Her Majesty

From: Dean

_Emergency_

 

To: Her Majesty

From: Dean

_Hes a dr you know_

 

To: Handmaiden

From: The Queen

_Yes i know how could i forget_

 

To: Handmaiden

From: The Queen

_Hes coming back?_

 

To: Her Majesty

From: Dean

_I think so_

 

To: Handmaiden

From: The Queen

_And when he does you say...?_

 

To: Handmaiden

From: The Queen

_YOU SAY...?_

 

To: Her Majesty

From: Dean

_But its on sams birthday_

 

To: Her Majesty

From: Dean

_He asked me out on sams birthday_

 

To: Handmaiden

From: The Queen

_Omg i cant even_

 

To: Handmaiden

From: The Queen

_Go talk to sam_

 

To: Her Majesty

From: Dean

_I cant go on a date on sams birthday charlie_

 

To: Handmaiden

From: The Queen

_TALK TO SAM_

 

To: Handmaiden

From: The Queen

_QUEENS ORDERS_

 

*

 

Sam and Dean bickered about the potential date for what felt like hours - or at least long enough for the fight to devolve into Dean debating with himself since Sam now refused to speak. He was going back and forth between his devotion to his brother and his fear that, were he to reject Castiel this one time, or even to suggest they postponed the date, he'd miss his only chance and the doctor wouldn't bother to ask him again.

Sam was reaching the end of his patience, wondering if he could get away with strangling his brother with one of the numerous tubes within reach. Surely he could blame it all on his medication and on the fact that Dean's rant was impeding his much needed sleep.

Fortunately, before he had to resort to that, Dr. Novak came back into the room, effectively clamping Dean's mouth shut. The doctor nervously glanced at him, but forcefully put the matter of Dean's answer to the side as he turned to Sam and asked how he was feeling.

Sam threw him a bright, toothy smile.

"Actually, I feel great, doctor," he said, even though it wasn't quite the truth. "And I'm glad to inform you that Dean will be delighted to go out with you on the second of May."

Dean let out a strangled sound. Sam could feel the outrage suddenly radiating off of him. He ignored it.

"He suggests you pick him up at seven p.m., so he'll have the time to change into something nice."

He knew Dean was about to speak up, but then Dr. Novak let out a small, "Oh." And smiled, small but happy, like he was surprised, like he hadn't expected Dean to say yes, or at least want to. "Good," he added, glancing at Dean.

Sam looked at his brother in time to see him swallow down his protests, his lips twitching into a nervous, shy smile.

"Great," he concurred.

And that was that.

 

*

 

To: Her Majesty

From: Dean

_CHARLIE ITS HAPPENING_

 

To: Her Majesty

From: Dean

_SAMS A LITTLE SHIT_

 

To: Her Majesty

From: Dean

_WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR_

 

*

 

Charlie Bradbury came to visit Sam two days after his birthday. Officially, it was to bring him his present - a book he'd never heard of but knew from past experience that he'd love. Officiously, she barely waited until he'd torn the wrapping paper before thanking him for stepping in and making The Date happen. It had made her win all the parts in the bet they'd set up at the office after Dean had mentioned meeting Sam's new doctor for the first time. Said bet had been a complex tangle of variables, because the employees of the Bureau never did things the easy way. Charlie had doubly won by being the closest when speculating about how long it would take before something happened and by guessing that what would happen wouldn't be a simple hook-up but would head towards a disgustingly happy and steady relationship.

The Date had indeed been a success. It was about to segue into a repeat performance that very evening. Dean's besotted grin was so wide and permanent that everyone was beginning to worry his face would remain stuck that way.

Charlie offered Sam three quarters of the money, if she got to keep Ash's miniature Millenium Falcon.

 

*

 

One would think that, after that, Sam's life would be slightly less miserable.

Ha ha ha.

Wrong.

His guilt might've been assuaged by the fact that Dean had finally Met Someone - someone who understood his devotion to his family and to his work, who was just as stupidly enamored as he was and just as willing to try and make things work in spite of their respective busy schedule. But Sam hadn't taken all the factors into account. Especially not one very important factor: namely that he would be in the front row and have to watch as Dean and Castiel's relationship grew beautifully and blossomed in a riot of pink and other bright colors.

Because what could be worse than having virtually no life and spending half his time at the hospital? Spending half his time at the hospital where his own brother and his own doctor kept flirting with each other, blushing like teenagers and sighing dreamily while talking about the other when said other was absent - with Sam as the unfortunate recipient.

Sam knew he only had himself to blame. But he couldn't help but feel peeved at how the universe had tricked him into the perfect situation for it to rub Dean's newfound happiness right in his face at every corner, while his own life remained the same. And he knew it wasn't fair of him to hold it against Dean, but well. He was human. And anyways, it wasn't like Dean noticed.

Take now, for example. Sam was in the day room, sitting on one of the sofas that faced the glass doors that led to the cafeteria. He had a book open on his lap, which he wasn't reading. He was too busy brooding and, well, glaring. In the other room, right in his field of vision, Dean and Castiel were having lunch together, as they did every Tuesday, because they already had developed the habits of an old married couple.

Tuesdays were rapidly becoming Sam's least favorite day of the week.

Anyways, in spite of having been raised by John Winchester, who'd taught them to always be on their guard, and in spite of years of training with the FBI, Dean didn't seem to realize that someone was actively trying to bore a hole into his skull with their eyes. He kept talking and smiling, and Castiel kept talking and smiling right back, and then Dean scooped up a bit of pie from his plate and fed it to Castiel and-

And that was how Sam was going to die. And it wouldn't even be because of his chronic disease.

"They're cute," a voice sighed behind him.

Sam turned around, looked up and saw an angel.

The young woman with perfect golden curls and wide blue eyes glanced down at him and her voice took on a steely, dangerous note when she added, her gentle smile never leaving her lips: "Aren't they?"

Sam belatedly realized what his glaring daggers at the happy gay couple may look like to a third party unaware of the particularities of the situation. This revelation was followed by another one, namely that in his distraction, he'd let his book slip from his hands. Said book - _War and Peace_ , of course - took its revenge by landing right on his foot.

Pain exploded in all of his toes and he let out a strangled yelp. He barely saw and heard the woman rush around the sofa and ask him if he was okay. She was a volunteer, she said, her name was Jess, and should she be calling a doctor? Sam was about to answer that he was okay - another white lie - but someone else spoke up before he could.

"Can't leave you alone for more than a minute, can we, Sammy?"

Apparently, the commotion had surprisingly been enough to pop Dean and Castiel's bubble. They'd come over at once, Castiel kneeling down to inspect Sam's foot and Dean grinning, torn between amusement and worry. Sam was mortified.

"Nothing seems broken," Dr. Novak announced when he climbed back onto his feet. "But it would be prudent for us to perform an X-ray."

The volunteer, Jess, left at once to fetch a nurse. She didn't come back.

Such was Sam's life.

 

*

 

The following day found Sam with his foot still throbbing and bandaged. He'd been advised not to leave his bed.

He was upset. And bored. _War and Peace_ was still lying somewhere on the floor of the day room, but he hadn't asked for it. It could burn in hell for all he cared. He'd tried to watch some daytime TV instead, but the first channel he'd landed on had showed him Dr. Sexy and a nurse in a compromising position in an elevator.

Dean had taken to using that name when talking about his boyfriend. Sam didn't want to know about his brother's kinks and didn't need the mental scarring. He'd turned off the set at once.

So here he was, listlessly leafing through an old issue of _Mercury_ he'd already read from cover to cover, when a soft, hesitant knock sounded on his open door. He looked up and felt himself freeze when he recognized the volunteer from the day before. Jess. Today her hair was gathered in a bun on her nape, but a couple of curls had escaped to frame her lovely face. She smiled hesitantly.

"Hi," she said. "I've come to see how you were doing. It's Sam, right?"

Sam felt his heart leap because she knew his name and he didn't remember giving it to her. Which meant she'd asked around. About him.

"Yeah. Sam. That's me. You're Jess. I'm okay."

Suddenly Dean's inarticulacy when faced with a person he liked stopped being hilarious; as Sam was finding out, it might be a genetic defect.

"I'm glad to hear that," Jess replied, amused. As she stepped into the room to sit down on the chair beside his bed Sam tried to reassure himself. Making a girl smile or laugh was a good thing, right? "And I'm sorry for yesterday. I shouldn't have sneaked up on you like that."

"Oh, it's okay. No worries. I'm okay."

Sam decided to stop talking.

Jess was still smiling, but obviously didn't know what to say.

The silence stretched.

"So," the young woman finally added. "You're one of Dr. Novak's patients."

"Yes."

"He's a good doctor, from what I hear."

"He is," Sam replied pleasantly, although he could feel his heart sinking. What if Jess wasn't here to talk to him, wasn't interested in learning more about him? What if she only wanted details about his doctor? It wouldn't be that surprising. After all, Castiel was right up there with Dean when it came to being intelligent, handsome and successful. Whereas Sam, well.

Sam hadn't made it past the first year of college, looked like death warmed over on a good day, and still hadn't his life together at thirty.

"I don't know if I should tell you this, given who you are," Jess went on, conspiratorially leaning forward. "But he and his boyfriend are quite the talk among the nurses and volunteers. They find them adorable."

"They are," Sam managed to say, knowing how pinched his expression was.

"I've heard that nothing would have happened if it weren't for you, though." And then, she smiled right at him. It was like a ray of sunshine after a long, cloudy winter. "And, well. I'm a romantic at heart. So I was wondering..."

She trailed off, biting her lips.

Sam understood at once what she was asking. She wasn't interested in Dr. Novak. She was looking for a love story.

She wanted _Sam_ to tell her a love story.

And since Sam was smart, he rapidly calculated that relating in details the long and fastidious journey of Dean and Castiel towards their happily ever after would take a long time. A very long time that Jess would spend in his room, listening to him, hopefully commenting on what he had to say. Hopefully liking the way he said it.

He would make her smile. He would make her laugh. He would make her heart beat faster and squeeze and briefly stop and melt. Because if there was one thing that Sam was good at, after years spent reading while sick in bed, it was telling stories. The patients in the children ward could attest to it, as could the nurses who stopped on their way to listen in as he spun tales about monsters and quests, about hardships and brothers fighting them together. More than once they'd approached him afterwards and told him he should put them into writing.

Now that he thought about it, they might've been on to something.

So Sam smiled. And started his story.

**Author's Note:**

> The description of Sam's chronic disease is voluntarily vague because I didn't go and search all about illnesses that could lead a person to land frequently at the hospital and disturb the course of their life in a significant way. In my head I went with severe hemophilia - or, as my dear sister put it, emo-feels, ha - but it could be anything (or nothing that actually exists). I apologize if anyone feels offended by that.


End file.
